#the arrow... is calm for once

[thyarrowofdodona]

how does it feel being so great with words and only Lester/Apollo can hear you?

aye, curious mortal, i supposeth it could have been worse. at least the lester fool comprehends mine lush vocabulary! imagine if it was little meg!

while i doeth agree with her lester-tormenting ways, i doubteth she would be able to interpret mine vast elizabethan wisdom...

[ccwpidsblog]

crashing out — onyakopon

⭐️: nsfw 18+ in which you learn why your fiancé retired from his old ways

cupids arrows: if you’re new here pls ignore my old post 🙏🏾

Onyakopon was the chillest man you’d ever met.

You remember the first day you met your fiancé like it was yesterday. Your puppy had slipped her leash and bolted after the two of you got caught in the rain. Mud was everywhere—on her paws, on the soaked sidewalk—and you watched in horror as she ran straight for the tall, dark-skinned man with deep waves and glistening golden grills, his baggy jeans and fresh Dunks standing no chance against the chaos she brought.

The muddy paws left stains all over his jeans, and you were mortified. You snatched her up quickly, firing off apology after apology, even offering to clean his shoes and pants. You were so embarrassed you swear you felt your soul leave your body.

But he just shrugged it off, his low brown eyes soft, paired with a small smile that eased your panic.

“You good,” he said simply, his voice calm and mellow, while you were seconds from collapsing in shame.

That day never left your mind, especially after you somehow ended up in a relationship with the man. Ony was so... nonchalant.

You yapped his ear off from morning until sundown, never running out of things to say, and he never once complained. When you accidentally knocked over his grinder, spilling his entire stash of weed, he didn’t get mad—he just kissed you on the forehead to quiet your babbling apologies. When you bleached his Chrome Hearts hoodie, almost crying over it, he shrugged and said, “It’s just a hoodie. I’ll get a new one.” And he did.

He was a sweetheart through and through. He spoiled you, listened to you, and made you feel like you could do no wrong. Even when he proposed—after three years together—it was the most emotion and the most words you’d ever heard him say all at once.

Most of your love lived in unspoken gestures. A look, a kiss on the temple, his hand resting on your knee when you ranted about your day. You always seemed to read his mind before he had to say anything. And you were okay with it—Ony’s silence spoke volumes.

So when his friends sat around telling wild stories—about your Ony chasing some guy down three blocks for stepping on his shoe—you just blinked, completely dumbfounded.

“That was not my Onya,” you said, shaking your head.

It was one of those late summer days where the air felt heavy with heat and conversation. You and Ony were at one of Sasha’s backyard barbecues—loud music, too much smoke in the air, and way too many faces you didn’t know. You didn’t mind, though. Ony always brought you along, hand warm in yours, whispering low in your ear, “You good, ma. I got you.”

But today, Ony had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Probably off somewhere smoking a blunt to cool. You didn’t mind. Coco was leashed at your side, her tail wagging as she sniffed around, and you were content grabbing a soda from the cooler, letting the afternoon sun warm your shoulders.

Until you noticed him.

Tall, built like Ony but rougher around the edges. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and something about him set you on edge.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at Coco, who barked happily.

“Thanks,” you replied, polite but wary. “She’s a menace, but she’s ours.”

The man chuckled, eyes lingering on you. Too long. “Yours and Ony’s, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Ony got himself all... domesticated.”

You blinked, thrown off by his words. “Yeah. We’re engaged.”

For emphasis, you lifted your hand and showed off the engagement ring sitting proudly on your finger. Ony had picked it out himself, saying something about it being “the only rock that could keep up with you.”

The man’s grin faltered for a second before turning sharp again, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “Man... Ony really cleaned up. Bet you don’t know half of what he used to be on.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you know Ony?”

Before he could answer, you felt it. The shift in the air.

You turned to see Ony stepping up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His calm, lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and dangerous.

“Yo,” Ony’s voice was low, sharp like a blade. “What the hell you doin’ here, Ricky?”

The man, Ricky, smirked, completely unfazed. “Relax, bro. Just catching up with your girl. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to say hi.”

Ony ignored him and stopped in front of you, his hand gently brushing your elbow, like he needed to feel you there, steady and safe. “You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, searching his face. “Who is—”

“You don’t talk to her,” Ony cut you off, his voice sharper again as he looked back at Ricky. “Ever.”

Ricky barked out a laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing was a joke. “Damn, Ony. You really changed, huh? Wife. Dog. Family barbecues. You think this erases all that sh*t we did? Think it makes you better than me?”

You looked between them, confusion swirling in your chest.

Ricky’s smirk widened. “You ain’t gonna tell her? About Kev?”

The name hit Ony like a physical blow. His whole body went rigid.

“Who’s Kev?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Ricky grinned, ignoring you. “The one who didn’t make it ‘cause we were out there actin’ reckless. But you remember that, huh?”

It happened so fast you gasped. Ony’s fist collided with Ricky’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Ony!” you cried as Coco barked wildly.

The crowd turned, the music seeming to dim as Ony’s voice rang out. “Keep my name out your mouth!”

Ricky spat blood and grinned like he’d won. “Same old Ony.”

Ony let Eren drag him back, but his face was still tight, his body vibrating with rage. He didn’t stop to explain. He just scooped Coco into your arms and pulled you out of the backyard, his hand gripping your waist.

“What the fuck was that, Onyakopon?” you hissed as you reached the car.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” he snapped.

The tone stunned you into silence. It was the first time in three years Ony had ever raised his voice at you. Before you could argue, he lifted you off your feet, set you in the passenger seat, buckled you in, and slammed the door. 

The ride home was silent, the tension so thick it choked the air. Ony’s jaw was set, teeth gritted as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as you stared out the window. Even the low hum of the engine felt deafening.

When you got home, the silence followed. Ony unlocked the door, opened it for you like he always did, and set your purse down, but his movements were robotic, like he was on autopilot. You didn’t move—just stood there staring at him.

Finally, you snapped.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened, Ony!” Your voice trembled with anger, eyes blazing as you threw your hands up. “What the hell was that back there?”

Ony didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch, walking straight to the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, following him. “Don’t you dare—”

“I said it don’t matter!” he barked, whirling around. His voice was sharp and raw, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but stood your ground, refusing to let him shut you out. “How can you say that? That man knew you, Ony. He knew things about you I don’t! And the way you hit him? Who was that?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the man I know!”

Ony ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth. “You don’t need to know that part of me.”

“Why?” you shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want me to see who you used to be?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he looked at you, eyes dark and stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it, Ony?” you pushed, voice trembling. “You can’t stand here and tell me you love me—ask me to marry you—and then keep this huge part of yourself locked away like it doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped, voice booming. “I was reckless, alright? I was a dumb kid, running around, doing shit I ain’t proud of. You really wanna hear how bad it got? You really wanna know the kind of man I used to be?” His voice cracked, his fists shaking at his sides. “I ain’t that man anymore. I can’t be.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I want all of you, Ony,” you whispered fiercely. “Not just the version you think I deserve. I don’t care how ugly it gets. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the truth.”

He froze, shoulders slumping as he stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. “I’m tryin’, ma,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tryin’ so damn hard to leave that shit behind. You don’t know what it’s like, carryin’ that with me every day. Losin’ Kev... I don’t ever want to feel that again. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some monster.”

Your face softened, tears spilling as you stepped closer. “I’m not gonna look at you like that,” you said, your voice shaky but sure. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to stop pushing me away.”

Ony’s gaze flickered to yours, the fight finally draining out of him. He let out a long, unsteady breath and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I scared you back there. I just... when I saw Ricky talking to you, all I could think about was keepin’ you away from that part of my life. Away from him.”

You took a deep breath, the anger still simmering but softened by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, Ony. But you gotta stop keeping me out.”

He looked up at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “You deserve better than the mess I used to be.”

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “You’re not that man anymore,” you said softly. “I see you, Ony. I see who you are now. And I’m here because I love you—all of you.”

His expression cracked, something deep in him finally breaking free. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Damn, ma,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Stop saying that.”

Ony’s hands tightened on your waist, his eyes holding yours. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, breath hitching. “Ony...”

His gaze darkened, the tension between you shifting—charged and electric. Slowly, he stood up, his towering frame forcing you to tilt your chin up to keep looking at him. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it made your knees weak.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of promise. “Let me make it up to you, baby. I got you. Always.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and possessive. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss—soft and tender at first, then hungrier, like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

“Ony,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he kissed down your jaw, his lips trailing warmth along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your neck, his words punctuated by soft kisses. “For everything. I swear I’m gonna be better. You just gotta let me show you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Show me, then.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Starting right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself lying back on the bed, your body a tangled mess of need and warmth as your fiancé, lost himself in your ocean. His hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force, pulling them up and against your chest as his tongue worked in ways only he knew how to, bringing you to places you’d only ever reached with him. Every motion was deliberate, skilled—each flick, each touch of his fingers pushing you further, deeper into pleasure. His strength held you in place, leaving you no space to escape the sensations he stirred in you. His mouth, hot and insistent, tasted you, marked you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The pleasure became too much. Your body jerked, squirming away from the relentless skill of Ony’s tongue, but he was quicker, stronger. His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His large palm landed on the side of your thigh with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze and gasp.

“Where you think you goin’, mama?” His voice was low, husky, as he leaned up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. His golden grills caught the light, making him look both dangerous and divine. “Why you runnin’ from me? I’m just tryna apologize.”

Your whine came out incoherent, the words caught in your throat as his dark, smoldering eyes stayed fixed on you. He towered over you now, his body an imposing figure as he crawled over you, caging you beneath him. His breath was hot against your cheek, and you stared up at him, dazed, your vision swimming with glassy tears of overwhelming bliss.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that half-smile, wet and sinful. His smooth, dark skin gleamed, catching the dim light in a way that made him almost unreal, too beautiful to belong to one person alone—but he was yours. Completely yours. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he praised, brushing a thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear.

Your body trembled as he shifted, lining himself up with slow precision. Then he pushed into you, your shared groans filling the room as he sank in deep. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretched you perfectly.

“My pretty fuckin’ wife,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with possession and reverence.

You didn’t have the strength to reply—just a soft moan as your legs locked around his waist, anchoring him to you, letting him take you to where only he could.

The slow, deliberate roll of Ony’s hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “You feel so good, baby. Perfect—just for me.”

You could only moan in response, your hands sliding down his back, nails raking gently across his skin. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and meant to unravel you. His pace quickened, his control slipping as he pushed deeper, his grunts mixing with your cries.

“Ony,” you gasped, your voice breaking. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist, desperate to feel all of him.

“I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me?” His words were both grounding and intoxicating, pulling you further into the bliss he created with every stroke.

The heat built between you, your breaths turning shallow and ragged. Ony’s forehead rested against yours, his dark, hooded eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice deep and low.

Your glazed eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice raw, almost breaking.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a sob catching in your throat. “I love you too,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your hands cupped his face.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, his pace growing erratic, matching the desperate beat of your heart. “You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his movements growing sharper, deeper. “All mine.”

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your core until it finally snapped, sending shockwaves through you. Your back arched as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Ony wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping his throat. His body shuddered against yours, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Ony’s weight was solid and grounding on top of you, his hands still gripping your thighs as though he was afraid to let go.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rolling to the side, pulling you with him. He tucked you into his chest, his large hand splaying across your back.

“You good, mama?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“More than good,” you murmured, your voice still shaky. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his gaze. “I love you, Ony.”

“I love you more,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against yours.

As your breathing evened out and sleep began to tug at your senses, Ony whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, nuzzling into his chest. “And I’d do the same for you.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was Ony’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to your hair.

[purifiedclitoris69]

Cool Off

Natasha Romanoff x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: A hot-headed, cocky pyrokinetic Avenger struggles to control their powers—and the growing tension with Natasha Romanoff.

You weren’t born a hero. Hell, you’re still not sure you want to be one. But somewhere between the burning buildings and the broken bones, you became something they couldn’t ignore.

Your powers showed up early—violent, untamed, and triggered by rage. One minute you were a kid being cornered by people who thought they could hurt you, the next you were standing in the middle of an inferno, untouched, heart pounding, hands still glowing. You didn’t cry. You didn’t apologize. You liked the power.

As you grew, so did the fire. So did the attitude. You learned to own it—your temper, your heat, the way flames lick at your skin like they know you. People called you dangerous, reckless, impulsive. You called it survival. Eventually, you stopped flinching when they whispered “monster.” You started smirking instead.

Now you’re the walking wildfire of the team—hot-headed, loud-mouthed, and impossible to ignore. You talk big because you can back it up. No one wants to spar with you in the training room. You’ve melted more than one combat dummy and set off multiple fire alarms just breathing too hard.

And yeah, you’re cocky. Arrogant, even. But beneath the fire and the biting sarcasm, there’s something else. A need to protect. A need to matter. You’ll never admit it out loud, but these people—this dysfunctional team of weirdos and warriors—they’re the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

You’d burn the world down for them.

All they had to do was light the match.

Being part of the Avengers means being part of a dysfunctional family—emphasis on dysfunction. You’re the chaos in the calm, the match everyone forgot was lit until the whole room’s up in smoke. The team keeps calling you a “loose cannon”, which is ironic considering you’re also the one they call when things go really sideways.

You get on everyone’s nerves, but they’d be lying if they said they didn’t love you.

Steve tries to keep you in check. Keyword: tries. He’s constantly telling you to “watch your temper” or “think before you act,” and you just grin and ask if he wants you to knit a sweater and write in cursive next. He lectures, you roast him, but there’s a weird father-figure comfort in the way he never gives up on you—even when you’re blowing holes through the training room walls.

Sam? He’s your sparring partner and your verbal sparring partner. The two of you bicker like siblings on a long car ride. You steal his food, call him Birdbrain, and he threatens to throw you off the Quinjet every time. But if anyone outside the team ever looked at you the wrong way, Sam would be the first to step between you and danger

Clint is your partner-in-crime. You once dared him to shoot an arrow through a flaming hoop you made mid-air. He did it. You high-fived. Nat screamed. It was a great day.

Bruce is wary of you. Understandably. He says you “remind him of a bad day.” But he respects your strength and sometimes lets you hang around when he’s working in the lab. You don’t push him, and in return, he gives you space when the fire under your skin starts burning too hot.

Wanda gets it. She sees the fire in your head as well as the one in your fists. You two share a quiet understanding beneath all the sarcasm. She’s the one who talks you down when your temper edges toward dangerous. You never admit it out loud, but sometimes when the nightmares come, it’s her voice that helps you breathe.

Tony loves the fire. It’s entertaining to him, he can’t comprehend how dangerous it is to fuel. Always matching your sarcastic remarks or commenting on the guests that leave your room. Sometimes you think he lives to see you react—burn.

And then there’s Natasha.

Your dynamic with Natasha is… complicated.

From day one, the two of you clashed. She’s ice; you’re fire. She’s calculated; you’re impulsive. She walks into a room and sizes it up like a chessboard. You? You kick the door open and set the board on fire just to see how the pieces scatter.

She says you’re a headache. You call her uptight. She rolls her eyes when you flirt, and you flirt harder. It’s almost a game now—this push and pull, this unspoken dare between you.

You call her Natty, just to get under her skin. You wink at her in briefings, lean too close when you’re teasing, whisper “You love me, admit it,” like it’s a joke. She scoffs, mutters something sharp, and walks away before anyone sees the corner of her mouth twitching up.

But beneath her cold exterior and your loud bravado, there’s something simmering—something that neither of you touches directly. You feel it when her eyes linger too long after a mission, when she patches you up in silence and her fingers hover just a second longer than they need to. You feel it in the rare moments she lets you see behind her walls, and it terrifies you more than any fire ever could.

She gets on your nerves. You get under her skin. And yet, when everything’s falling apart, she’s the one you find standing beside you—silent, steady, and always watching your back.

Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s danger. Maybe it’s both.

But whatever it is, it burns.

———

You weren’t exactly recruited—you were contained.

After your powers triggered a four-alarm inferno in downtown Berlin during a run-in with a mercenary crew, SHIELD made a call. Fury showed up, grim as ever, and gave you two options: be a weapon for someone else, or learn how to control your fire with people who won’t flinch when you burn.

You chose the Avengers.

It’s been six months. Six long months of testing your limits, pissing off Rogers, burning through reinforced training mats, and learning that your powers don’t just react to anger—they thrive in it.

And Tony? God, Tony’s made it his life mission to poke the metaphorical bear.

———

You’re in the hangar, fresh out of a debrief that felt more like a public execution. Tony wouldn’t shut up about the “scorch marks” you left on the Quinjet floor, and Fury went off about “restraint, discipline, collateral damage, Wildfire, damn it!”

Your fists are clenched. Smoke rises off your skin in thin wisps, heat radiating off you in thick waves. The air itself wavers around you.

Everyone else had the sense to leave, but Natasha?

She leans against a crate a few feet away, arms crossed, like she’s watching a particularly unimpressive fireworks display.

“You done throwing your tantrum?” she asks, arching a brow.

You whip around. “Back off, Romanoff.”

“Original,” she mutters. “You burn a hole in the floor again and Fury’s going to tan your ass.”

“I said back off,” you growl, eyes flickering orange. The fire is crawling up your arms now, licking your shoulders. You’re shaking. The control you’ve spent months building is crumbling fast.

Natasha doesn’t move.

“Breathe,” she says, quietly now. “Unless you want to turn this place into a kiln.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” you snap, voice cracked with heat. “You’re just waiting for me to slip up so you can say I told you so.”

“Oh yeah,” she says dryly, pushing off the crate and walking toward you, unbothered by the scorched floor or the way your body temperature is climbing. “I live for watching your emotional meltdowns. Better than Netflix.”

You laugh once, sharp and bitter. “God, you’re such a—”

But then she’s closer. Her voice drops, no longer playful, but not unkind either.

“Look. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re about to come apart. To be the weapon everyone expects to misfire.”

Her eyes search yours—calm, sharp, unsettlingly gentle.

“You don’t have to prove anything. Not to Stark. Not to Fury. And sure as hell not to me.”

Your breath hitches. The fire falters, sputters, confused. You blink and realize you’ve been trembling. Not with rage. With fear.

You don’t even notice your knees give out until she catches you.

Not gently, but not coldly either—just… present. Strong. Real. Her arms steady you, her touch cooler than your skin, grounding like ice on a burn.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, your voice cracking.

“No, you’re boiling over.” She smirks faintly. “Shocking, I know.”

You snort, half-laughing through a breathless exhale. “You really know how to comfort someone.”

“It’s a talent,” she says. “Now come on. Let’s get you cooled off before you burn off your eyebrows again.”

You look at her—really look. And in her expression, under the teasing and the sarcasm, there’s something soft. Something vulnerable. Something that mirrors the mess inside you.

You’ve always flirted with her, joked and prodded and pushed—but this is the first time it feels dangerously real

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one who’s afraid of what happens if that fire ever turns inward—if the two of you stop fighting it.

You’re still shaking, the fire inside you reduced to embers that stubbornly cling to your skin like static. Natasha doesn’t say much as she guides you through the compound—hand on your arm, firm and warm, a silent anchor.

You expect her to take you to medical, or maybe one of the training rooms. But instead, she wordlessly leads you down the hall toward the Avengers’ private lap pool, tucked away behind reinforced glass and sterile white tile.

She flicks the lights on. They hum softly as the water glows a cool, blue-green.

“Strip,” she says, already kicking off her boots.

You blink. “Wow. Should’ve lost control sooner.”

She glares. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wildfire. You’re a human flamethrower and you need to cool off.”

Still, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth—half-smirk, half-internal war. You mutter something about bossy redheads and peel off your shirt. Your skin’s flushed, your chest still rising too fast. The moment your feet touch the water, your body sighs—like the fire inside you exhales all at once.

Natasha doesn’t cannonball or dive. Of course not. She slips into the water like it’s part of her, all grace and calculated movements. She ends up floating beside you, eyes half-lidded, arms spread over the surface like she’s waiting for the silence to say what neither of you has.

“So,” she finally says, voice softer than you expect, “you wanna tell me what that was about?”

You shrug, eyes trained on the pool tiles. “Tony pushed. Fury barked. I snapped. What else is new?”

“That’s not all of it.”

Your jaw tightens. “I’ve spent most of my life being afraid of what I am. People flinch when they look at me. I get too angry and I become this… thing.” You swallow. “And part of me likes it. The heat, the power. It scares me, and I think it scares them too. I’m not like you, Nat. I can’t hide what I am.”

She watches you for a long moment before speaking.

“You think I don’t know what it feels like to be turned into something you didn’t ask to be?” Her voice is low. “I spent years being shaped into a weapon. Made to bury who I was. Smile when ordered. Kill when told.”

You turn your head, meet her eyes. She’s close now—close enough to feel the ripple of her breath across the water.

“I see the way you fight it,” she continues. “The way you laugh and push people away before they can do it first. It’s not just heat you’re holding back.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not yet. But something softens in you.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” you finally say.

Natasha tilts her head. “I notice everything.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Of course you do.”

There’s a long pause. The water moves between you in gentle waves.

Then you say it, quieter than anything you’ve said during your time with the team.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She blinks. That cool composure falters for half a second—cracked, not shattered. She glances away like the admission struck something unguarded in her.

“That’s dangerous talk,” she says, voice a little too even. “Especially from someone who lights up like a damn matchstick.”

You smirk. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

Silence again. This time, heavier. More charged.

She shifts closer, and now you’re inches apart—warmth meeting warmth, though the pool should be cooling you both. Her eyes flick down to your lips, just once, before she glances away, guarded again.

“You don’t scare me,” she murmurs.

You blink. “Why not?”

She looks at you, expression unreadable. “Because I’ve danced with fire before.”

Your breath hitches. But neither of you leans in. Not yet.

Instead, you float there in the quiet tension—words unspoken, feelings barely contained—letting the water carry what the fire left behind.

For once, you don’t feel like you’re about to burn the world down.

You just feel seen. The silence between you stretches on, taut and electric.

She’s still watching you from beneath those long lashes, eyes dark in the soft shimmer of the pool lights. That unreadable expression—cool, controlled, calculating—is starting to crack. You see it in the way her fingers twitch in the water, in how her mouth parts like she wants to say something but won’t.

You move first.

Not because you’re bold—but because you’re done pretending.

Your hand brushes her arm under the water. Testing. She doesn’t move.

Then you shift closer, and your voice is nothing but a whisper:

“Say something, Romanoff.”

She meets your eyes. Her voice is low, rough. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I say what I want to say…” Her pupils flare with something raw. “I’m not going to be able to stop.”

You inhale sharply. “Then don’t stop.”

And just like that, the match ignites.

She surges forward, closing the space between you with a force you don’t expect—but crave. Her hand grips the back of your neck, the other splashing up water as it finds your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. And then—

She kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s not hesitant.

It’s devastating.

Mouths colliding in a desperate tangle of months of tension and biting sarcasm and flirtation that meant too much. Her lips are hot against yours, her body pressed to yours like she’s trying to erase the space that ever existed between you.

You groan into her mouth, hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against you in the water. She lets you. She wants it. You can feel the shiver roll through her as your fingers splay across the small of her back.

Her legs wrap around you before you even register it, and the heat between you has nothing to do with your powers now. Your heart is pounding. You feel like you’re burning alive again, but this time it’s not dangerous—it’s hers.

When she finally pulls back, your foreheads rest together, breath ragged, water rippling wildly around you both.

You whisper, “So, uh… that was…”

“Shut up,” she breathes, lips brushing yours again.

And then she kisses you again—slower this time, but no less intense. A confession written in the way she leans into you. A vow hidden in the way her thumb traces your cheek under the water.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like a weapon.

You just feel wanted.

And when she finally whispers your name against your lips like it’s a secret—barely audible, almost reverent—you realize you’re already undone.

[batsandbirdbrains]

i was wondering if you could write some nonverbal Dick when he was little and the the Batfam finding out when he's older?

okay okay okay but like. I feel like he just would not speak at all as Dick Grayson. He's quiet as a mouse. He might shake or nod his head if he's asked a yes or no question, but otherwise, he just stares. His lips are almost in a permanent pout, but it's not even on purpose.

And Bruce has no idea what to do. He tries to do anything to make him smile, to show any positive emotion at all. Hell, Bruce would even rather have Dick crying than him just being totally silent.

Then Robin is born, and his laughter bounces off the walls of the cave, "It's the Batcave, Bruce!" and Bruce feels his heart skip a beat. It's the first thing Dick has said to him in the two months since he came to live at the manor.

Dick's eyes are sparkling and his smile is wide and he's grinning at Bruce, rocking on his toes, giggling every few breaths. And Bruce's heart swells, and he scoops Dick up and twirls him around, squeezing him tight when Dick lets out a shriek of a laugh.

"The Batcave," Bruce tells him once they've both calmed down. "I like it."

And thus, all the bat-themed names are born. Batcave, Batmobile, Batarang, Batcomputer, and an endless list of bat-names. Bruce will call anything bat-themed if it gets Dick to say something.

Robin is chatty. At least, when he's with Batman. He talks a mile a minute, he has an opinion on everything, he makes puns so bad that Batman can't help but laugh. Criminals think he's a terror, and they groan every time they hear Robin's laughter echoing around them.

But Dick Grayson still barely speaks a word even a couple years after Bruce took him in. And when they're back at the Batcave, Dick Grayson peeks through Robin's mask more often than not. Robin is chatty when they're out, but not when they're home, and not when Batman brings him to meet a newly formed Justice League.

A ten-year-old Robin stands close to Batman, half-hidden beneath Batman's cape, staring at the gaggle of heroes meandering about the room. He looks up at Batman, his lips falling into their usual pout, and Batman just shakes his head.

"I know," he says softly to Robin. "We'll go home soon. Promise."

Robin tilts his head, his fingers twitching as he holds the edge of the cape.

"Well, maybe not as soon as you'd like," Batman says with a sigh.

Robin looks back towards the heroes, and some of them are making their way over to them now. Robin tenses up, and Batman places a hand on on his shoulder to help him relax.

"Robin!" Green Lantern greets, a huge grin on his face. "I've been wanting to meet Spooky's sidekick!"

Robin stays silent, but his gaze hardens. He doesn't look away from Green Lantern, and Hal starts to sweat.

"Uh, Spooky?" Hal says with a nervous laugh. "What's up with the kid?"

"He doesn't like your nickname for me," Batman says, his voice even. Robin looks up at Batman, and the two of them look at each other before Batman turns back to Hal. "He thinks it's unoriginal." There's a tug at his cape. "And boring."

"Oh," Hal stutters, and when Barry laughs behind him, he turns and swats at his shoulder. "Well then. Alright. Good talk. Oh would look at that, I think Oliver is calling me, see you later!"

He hurries over to the other side of the room, nowhere near way Green Arrow is standing with Black Canary and Wonder Woman. Barry stays though, and he holds a hand out for Robin to shake. Robin stares at it a moment, then shakes Barry's hand.

"Firm grip," Barry tells him, a grin on his face. "You must be pretty strong if you're able to keep up with Bats."

A hesitant smile spreads across Robin's face, but he doesn't say anything. Barry doesn't seem to mind, filling the silence easily. It reminds him a bit of his conversations with Batman, actually.

Superman isn't there the first time Robin is introduced to the Justice League, having to stay behind in Metropolis due to an issue with Lex. But pretty much everyone in the League realizes that Robin doesn't talk, at least not to them.

So imagine their surprise when Robin accompanies Batman to the Watchtower the next month, and Robin lights up once he enters the meeting room where everyone is gathered.

"Superman!" Robin gasps, letting go of Batman's cape to run at Superman. He stops in front of him, a grin on his face as Superman just laughs.

"Hello, Robin," Clark greets. "I've heard a lot about you!"

"All good, I hope," Robin teases, leaning into Clark's personal bubble. Clark doesn't seem to mind.

The rest of the conversation is more so on Clark's part, Robin's responses short, mostly just nodding, but his face is full of joy, and Batman is watching in awe. Diana is standing next to him, a gentle hand on his arm.

"This is the most he's spoken all week," Batman says softly.

Diana just smiles at him, patting his arm, unsure of exactly what to say. They still don't know much about Batman and Robin's lives outside of the masks, but she thinks maybe this will help them both to open up a little more.

And it is the start of them opening up more, because sure enough, Dick slowly starts speaking more as both Robin and even as Dick Grayson. Eventually, most people forget that Dick Grayson barely spoke at all, because soon enough he does a total 180, and he's so chatty that the world around him simply forgets.

But even as an adult, he has times when he simply reverts back to not wanting to speak. It's exhausting, having to speak so much sometimes. It's a defense mechanism, staying silent. It's comfortable.

He tries not to do it around anyone but Bruce, because he's the only one who ever knew exactly what he was trying to say, even when he didn't want to say anything at all.

But there's one day when he just can't bring himself to talk. He's so tired. It's been nonstop work, both in and out of the mask, and he can't gather up the energy. He's still only half-healed from his last mission, he's physically and mentally exhausted, and he doesn't want to be the one to fill the silence. So he just doesn't.

And it freaks the entire rest of the family out.

"Big Bird?" Jason asks after a a full hour of Dick sitting silently in the manor. The rest of the siblings are watching from the doorway of the room, Jason having drawn the short straw to be the one to ask him what's wrong. "Did you get hit with a spell or something?"

Dick just turns to him, his brow furrowing, his head tilting. He's curled up on his favorite couch, a TV show he's watching a million times playing in the background.

Dick just shakes his head, then rests his head back on his pillow and goes back to staring blankly at the screen.

"Are you sick?" Jason prods. "Do you have, like, strep throat or something?"

Dick's head just barely shakes, and he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. It's a clear sign to leave him alone.

It's Tim who ends up pulling Bruce into the room, insisting that something is wrong with Dick, that he needs to be brought into the Batcave, that they need to do some tests on him because he's acting weird and no one knows why.

Bruce kneels in front of the couch, blocking Dick's view of the TV, and Dick frowns at him.

"Hey, chum," Bruce says softly. "What's up?"

Dick moves one hand out from where it was tucked under his chin to give him a little wave, but doesn't say anything. Bruce just smiles at him, tugging the hood down a little further over Dick's eyes and grinning when Dick smiles and swats Bruce's hand away to push the hood back.

"Sorry for bothering you," Bruce tells him. "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Dick looks at him for a moment before pushing the side of his head further into the pillow, and his nose twitches a bit.

"Tea? With milk?"

Dick smiles at him. Bruce smiles back and pats his head.

"I'll be right back," Bruce says, and he gets up to go make Dick a cup of tea. It's late in the day though - he'll have to make sure it's decaf. It's not a patrol night for Nightwing.

"What the fuck was that?" Jason questions him as he leaves the room.

"He's just in a quiet mood today, is all," Bruce tells them.

"And you were just gonna play twenty questions until you could figure out what he wanted?" Tim asks.

"No, he clearly wanted tea," Bruce says, looking at them all like it was obvious.

"How is that clear?"

"It just...was," Bruce tells them. "I just know what he wants. I'm used to him not speaking."

"And how are you used to him not speaking? He never shuts up!"

Bruce actually laughs, and he moves into the kitchen to start making Dick a cup of tea.

"What? What's funny about that?"

"He hardly spoke the first two years I knew him," Bruce says through his laughter. "Never shuts up, that's funny. It used to be like pulling teeth to get him to say a single word."

Everyone else is totally baffled, they can't wrap their heads around it. Meanwhile, Bruce just finishes up making Dick's tea and goes to leave it on the coffee table in front of him, patting Dick's head again before he leaves the room.

"Leave him be," Bruce tells his other children. "He's tired. You can bother him once he's feeling chatty again."

[cakypa120]

Aka continuation of the previous post. Conversation between the League and Marvel.

Billy didn't know that the League would go so crazy when they saw his notebook. Bruce and Clark were especially pale, staring into the depths of space for ten minutes. Diana was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Barry was tapping his foot rapidly, nervously biting his lip. Hal looked green. Arthur looked at everyone smugly. J'onn was already eating his fifth pack of Oreos. Shayera was tapping her finger on the table and frowning. Oliver stood straight and clenched his hands into fists.

Marvel: I don't understand your frustration. You didn't do this

Barry: You don't understand?! Marvel, this is not normal!! I killed you 43 times!! This...this...

Barry pauses, tears welling up in his eyes. Billy feels awkward.

Marvel: Sorry. I'm just used to it. It's always one of you.

Bruce: It's not just the League, it's the Titans and Young Justice. Why did they kill you?

Marvel: *shrugs* Sometimes you tell them to, sometimes they do it themselves, sometimes they're mind-controlled. There's a lot going on. I like Nightwing the best. He always kills me quickly and painlessly. I didn't even realize I was dead until I took my first breath in this dimension. You can tell a pro.

Bruce covers his face with his hands.

Clark: Did John ever...

Marvel: Yeah, along with Damian. Two demons who were enjoying it way too much. I gave them a few points for cruelty.

Clark covers his face with his hands, too.

Diana: Brother... This... You need to get help!

Marvel: Who? Dinah? Should I remind you that she's seventh on the list?

Diana: Brother, throw that list and those points away! What happened... How can you react like that?! You were killed! And very cruelly! Your face was melted! Your heart was ripped out! You were poisoned! You were mobbed and killed! How can you be so calm? HOW?!

Billy didn't know what to say. Had he resigned himself? A long time ago. But that fear still lived in him. Every time he thought about how and who would kill him. To do many things so that after his death the world would continue to exist. Hell, he himself sometimes pushed them to kill, because sometimes they didn't want to kill him. They always looked at him with sadness. As if killing him was not what they wanted.

Marvel: Too many lifetimes to get used to. And this notebook is like... I don't know... a distraction? A way to understand you? To find some kind of pattern in everything? I don't know. It's just that over time all the pain has dulled, it's not gone away, but it doesn't hurt as much as the first few times.

Hal: Dude. This... this... I don't know what to say.

Oliver: Have you ever given up on being a hero?

Marvel: Sure. Who do you think I am? But even so, I didn't even live to be fifteen. Once I was killed by Diana right in the crib, the second time I was killed by Clark on red kryptonite, the third time I was killed by Hal, who became a Yellow Lantern, oh, don't forget how Arthur chopped off my head when he was taking over dry land. By the way, the fact that the brain lives for twenty seconds after being cut off is true. I did the math myself.

Everyone looks at him strangely.

Diana: I killed you in the cradle?

Marvel: Yes. I couldn't even roll over. You killed my sister then, too.

Diana presses her lips into a thin line.

J'onn: Do you have a sister?

Marvel: Yeah, but she's currently missing. I'll find her soon and introduce her to you. She's pretty sweet.

J'onn: Has she ever killed you?

Marvel: Yeah. It's not nice to have your throat torn out by sharp fangs, but it's a lot nicer than being stabbed with arrows. Yeah, Oliver, your version of me couldn't kill the first time, so you shot me so many times.

Oliver: Thanks, I could live without that information.

Marvel: You're welcome. I need to get back to patrol. The city can't save itself.

Batman: Hold on. The meeting's not over yet.

Marvel: Come on, I already know what's going to happen. You'll swear not to kill me, you'll even create special protocols, but I'll still get killed, even with those protocols. So I suggest you calm down a bit and think with a clear head. And I'm going back to the city. Bye.

Marvel leaves. The heroes remain silent. The weight of guilt weighs on their laps, and the knowledge that they can't fix anything eats them up, depriving them of any hope. There's only one question spinning in their heads.

How dare I kill Marvel?

Part 1

[no1blacksapphirefan]

In your self aware crk au, what if the player didn't log in for a week or two? Like, usually they're there every day for the log in bonuses and stuff but they're missing. Maybe their phone broke/ lost it or they were really sick or something. Would our beloved beasts and ancients (+ black sapphire if you want) freak out?

I like the way you think >:) Before I came back I did wonder, if the cookies were aware, I wonder how they feel about me constantly dipping back in and out of the game. (I'm here to stay this time!!...hopefully...if my phone storage lets me)

Pure Vanilla He's worried :(( He isn't sure what happened but not seeing your face for nearly 2 weeks now worries him a lot. Did you...loose interest? He understands and he can't be too mad if you didn't know that they're aware. He can't help but feel done as he patiently waits for your (hopefully) return.

And when you do? He nearly breaks character, running up to where your screen is pointed at and waving happily. Nearly telling you welcome back. He quickly switches to once of his automatic voicelines and prays you didn't notice the slip up. He's so happy to see you, if you were sick and that's why you weren't playing? He makes sure to (try) and send you good blessings through the screen, he may not be able to heal through he screen but he can try in another way.

Dark Cacao He won't admit it to anyone, but your disappearance makes him upset. He's gotten so used to you after all. He doesn't exactly like the thought of you going missing even if...sure technically you're probably not. His mind goes to the worst case scenario. Caramel Arrow Cookie has to try and calm him down until you return.

Upon seeing your face again, he instantly feels a wave of relief crash over him. What's that? You just broke your phone when you accidentally dropped it down the stairs?...Now he feels embarrassed on what he thought had happened, but hey!! He was just really worried about you okay...

HollyBerry She waits patiently, she knows you'll come back!!...Right? If you're go for more then say, 2 weeks then she'll get scared. You will come back right? She knows you technically didn't promise anything (Joke or not) and you aren't...obligated to come back but...she's starting to miss you!! She loved hearing you laugh.

When you finally come back she's so happy, quickly waving to you, when the screen goes to her. She'd knew you'd come back!! There's no way you'd get bored of them, she can sense how much you love them after all!

Golden Cheese She didn't notice it at first, well...she noticed the silence but she knew when you get upset, sometimes you'd be more quiet. Eventually she realises...it's a bit too quiet. And that's when sh realises you've been gone. Wait, don't leave her too!! Well, she knows you're not gone gone but. She can't help but pace back and forth, hoping to see your face again She silently begs you to come back.

When you do she lets out the biggest sigh of relief ever. She tries her hardest in Arena (And arcade arena if it's there + she's allowed to fight) for you. As a sort of, welcome back kind of thing. Oh she misses seeing that smile of yours.

White Lily Wait what? You're gone? Okay you're not gone gone but...what happened?...Did you...finally get annoyed by her? Has her actions eventually annoyed you enough to make you leave? She shakes her head, and tells herself that if you did leave, it wouldn't be because of her...surely...you've shown her how much you cared about her after all.

She nearly lets out a noise of pure delight as you come back, she's so happy and relieved to see you again after so long. Sure it wasn't years but it's still been a while!! Plus it felt like forever to her...she can't help but smile in her cookie menu and your kingdom for a few days.

Mystic Flour She's the Light of Apathy. You'd think she'd care? That's what she told herself and others anyways. That your sudden disappearance didn't mean anything to her. You could be gone for years and she wouldn't feel anything. That's what she said and that's what she believed...she did feel strange though, but that was probably nothing.

She was quickly proven wrong when she realised seeing you again after 2 weeks made her feel a sense of joy in her chest...what's this? She swears she didn't care you were gone...but seeing you again with your smile, hearing your laugh again...it proved her wrong...she really did care about you being gone...huh, you make her feel the strangest things you know.

Burning Spice He become a bit more...how do I put this, tense, angsty. Not even Nutmeg Tiger Cookie could calm her master down as he constantly hit his axe against the rock each day you've been gone. Where have you even gone?? Arg, he's gonna run out of rocks to destroy at this poin- wait you're back?

He's quick to throw his axe to the side and greet you happily, he couldn't care for playing along right now. Right now you have his attention and he hopes he has yours as well. Take him back to the Arena yeah? He's gonna take the rest of his rage out by destroying these cookies for you. Just for you!!

Shadow Milk He's been trying to cope by writing script after script after script. He has a feeling that you just can't play right now, or atleast he wants to believe that...he has yet to be proven right with your return...he's so worried, he hopes the reason you're not playing isn't because you got hurt...oh if it is, he hopes no one hurt you...he isn't scared to teach the other person a lesson if that's the case.

His worries washes away as he sees you return, happily taking advantage of the fact he "can break the 4th wall" without trouble. Giving you nearly a whole dramatic speech about oh how lonely you've made him feel, how much he missed you and how you shouldn't leave him alone like this again. He hides it all behind a giggle but...he does mean some of the words he's said in his speech.

Black Sapphire At first he brushes it off, even using you being gone as something to get more viewers to listen into his radio show...but after awhile, seeing that you're still gone. He gets more upset and worried, almost cancelling his usual radio shows until you came back. While he doesn't in the end up, it's not as well done as it was previously, listeners can tell your disappearance is upsetting him.

When you eventually do come back, his mood quickly shifts and he becomes happy again. His mic keeping an eye on you, seeing if it can spot the exact reason why you disappeared. He almost never leaves your screens field of view, waving at you any chance he gets, just to subtly tell himself it is you there. His radio shows go back to normal after that with the usual charm in his voice.

[victorian-writez]

Just friends???

Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader Setting: S2, Grace never existed. Summary: Reader and Alfie reunite from childhood when Reader interrupts Tommy's meeting with Alfie.

The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered thick in the air, curling through the corridors of Arrow House. You were halfway to the sitting room, fingers dusted with flour from baking with Polly, when you heard low voices — one deep and growling, the other smooth and clipped.

You weren’t supposed to interrupt. You knew that. But then again, Tommy didn’t say who the meeting was with.

You pushed the door open slightly, the creak of the old hinges giving you away.

“I told you to—” Tommy’s voice cut off when he saw you.

But your gaze had already landed on the man seated across from him.

“Alfie?”

Alfie Solomons turned, fur draped over his shoulders, beard just as wild as the last time you saw him — though now streaked with more grey. His eyes widened for a split second before they crinkled with a laugh.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

You didn’t think twice. You darted across the room and threw your arms around him. Alfie grunted, but hugged you tightly in return, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“I thought you were dead, you bloody pirate,” you muttered, eyes brimming.

Alfie chuckled, “Well, I almost was, love. But look at you, eh? Still got that same bite in you. Fucked off and married him, did you?”

You laughed, ignoring the tension that suddenly coiled in the room like a living thing. “Tommy’s full of surprises.”

Behind you, your husband sat back in his chair, jaw ticking, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His face was unreadable — smooth, like a calm sea that hid the rocks beneath.

Alfie patted your back, stepping away with a wink. “Right then, I’ll let you two lovebirds be. We’ll catch up soon, yeah? I’ll bring cake, you bring that temper of yours.”

“Deal,” you smiled warmly.

Tommy stood, silent as a viper, and walked Alfie to the door. Not a word exchanged.

When the door shut and the sound of Alfie’s uneven footsteps faded, Tommy turned around slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“You didn’t tell me Alfie Solomons was coming,” you said softly, walking toward him.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

You raised a brow. “He’s an old friend. From before the war. We used to play stickball in the alleys of Camden, steal sweets together. We were practically siblings.”

Tommy nodded once. Then again.

“Didn’t seem like a sibling reunion,” he muttered, pouring himself a whiskey. He didn’t look at you when he said it, but the burn was there, subtle.

You blinked. “Are you… jealous?”

He turned, glass in hand, that infamous Shelby smirk curling his lips. “I don’t get jealous.”

You stepped into his space, standing toe to toe.

“Then why do you look like you want to shoot the next bearded man I speak to?”

Tommy took a long sip, then placed the glass down with a soft clink. His hands found your waist, fingers dragging slowly across the curve of your back.

“Because I don’t like being reminded that someone else knew you before I did.”

You smiled up at him, amused. “That’s not jealousy?”

“It’s possession,” he said simply. “And love.”

Your smile softened. “You’ve always had me, Tom.”

His lips brushed your ear. “Then remind me again.”

[sugarcherryrobbing]

Hello! Could I request yandere Chance (forsaken) headcanons?

Yandere!Chance General Headcanons

❂ Warning(s): Yandere, Obsessive & Unhealthy Behavior

❂ Type of Writing: Headcanons

❂ Fandom: Forsaken

❂ Word Count: 852

A/N: Never stop gambling, never stop gambling… I know their lore is being remade as of right now (?), so I will try my best to write and maybe rewrite in the future? I’ll make another post perhaps. Apologies, been having troubles writing often. This is very disorganized 😭.

❂ When they first laid eyes on you, or if you ever met them in their dangerous adventures in childhood or the Forsaken Realm, Chance was smitten with a golden arrow, with a little spade on top.

❂ They always believed in Lady Luck; they couldn’t believe that she allowed them to meet you! Mayhaps a more ‘hidden feelings’ kind of yandere unless with their person of admiration.

❂ With others, it’s all chummy and good-spirited. When they are in some space of being alone with you, they melt into their feelings. If you two aren’t in a relationship yet, it takes all amounts of energy to not squeal and be overly admiring of you.

❂ Hell, even if you met them at their parent’s casino, through ITrapped, or within the Forsaken Realm, it seems like they struck gold. They’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

❂ Clingy to the extent? They can play it off as watching you play slots or fixing the generators. Saying they are watching if you are doing it right, jokingly, of course. That or the excuse of wanting to learn from you (generators). 

❂ Lazily, drapes an arm around you. Around your neck, shoulders? Body? They like to hold you warmly. Hinting to others that you are with Chance.

❂ While so, they are happily affectionate and friendly with you. At times they forget they are a jokester, what can we say? They hold you in such high regard that forgetting their own words is common.

❂ Always by your side, as your personal purse, or as protection from the abnormal monsters that hunt you down. Hovering around you casually, fueling their heart with just the proximity.

❂ They can always be a sentinel for all of the survivors, with you always on their mind. Wishing to team with you always. Hogging any items they can get to give to you. Running towards you if there is any distress or just if they are bored.

❂ It’s clear that they seek your attention and time, but the intent is always hidden under. They never planned to kill the survivors, but if their admired person focuses their attention on them… Maybe if the survivor/killer pisses them off or tries to have your hand, they may expect an ‘accidental’ shot?

❂ Before the both of you (if it happens) arrive in the Forsaken Realm, they could spoil you dozens of times with no limitations. It’s an act of love for Chance. They always wanted to impress you with their skills more though.

❂ After falling and awakening in the dark world (let’s say before you), they could lay there for hours, dealing with the thrust of air that ITrapped missed with the swing of the Darkheart. Feeling their body for any wounds, slashes, stabs. A numbness of what almost happened (trying to feel if the reason for being here is death, or worse). They can still move, there was no bleeding, still able to see, small, labored breaths showed that they were alive.

❂ Panic and realization. ITrapped was gone, they were trying to kill them. Where were they? What was everything around them? 

❂ Sure, they kept their persona of the calm, smirking risk-taker to the rest of the survivors, almost nearly fooling all, once they get to their cabin, they falter when they take their glasses off.

❂ They felt broken, the string of his mind was not yet snapped.

❂ If you guys knew each other before entering the realm, Chance would weep quietly in their cabin. Grasping at the pillows and fabric pilling of cotton to remind himself of your clothing. Makeshifting memories or even scenarios themself to soothe their mind. Waiting. Endlessly.

❂ When you arrive, to this dark hell, to this ruinous realm, it was hard to believe that. Guest 1337 found you first, taking you in the main cabin to settle.

❂ News reaching to the other cabins. Their cabin. Chance was one of the first to approach. Cool-toned, always there for you, trying to answer better than the other survivors your questions, like its competition. If you two knew each other beforehand, it allows Chance more of the medal to show you about and to be with you more intimately. 

❂ As time passed, hanging by you, they cling more heavily. He never wishes to see you perish during rounds, hell, willing to shield you from anything that tries to fly against the both of you.

❂ Jealousy weakens his ego at times if you’re with others, (tries to, maybe) openly flirts or place his body weight on you as a joke to hold them up. Anything for your time, anything if it means they have your attention.

❂ Dreams for them to shoot their shot with you. Let’s hope Lady Luck is on their side! … Or not..?

❂ If you denied them… it’s all on a coin flip on what Chance’s reaction would be.

❂ If it’s heads, it may end up in tears and begging you.

❂ If it’s tails… Well, let’s hope it's not.

[natalievoncatte]

Alex and Kara looked at each other. Kara stood before her desk in full Supergirl regalia, cape feeling heavy on her back.

“There has to be an explanation for this,” said Alex.

Kara couldn’t accept that. If Lena had gone no-contact for a time, that would be reasonable. She’d sometimes hole up in her lab for days at a time, barely sleeping or eating, consumed by an idea- but she would warn Kara first. She definitely wouldn’t no-show a brunch da… a brunch friend meetup between friends at their favorite patisserie and then go totally off radar for three days.

“She didn’t show up to our brunch,” Kara said. “We have to find her. I need to know she’s okay, Alex.”

Her sister sat back in her chair and looked back at her over her desk.

“Have you looked? You can cover more ground and do it faster than we ever could.”

“Of course I’ve *looked*,” said Kara. “That’s why I’m so worried. I flew past her apartment and things weren’t right. There was a mug of tea left out on the counter. The place was messy. Lena doesn’t do messy.”

“But no signs of a struggle,” said Alex.

“I called Jess and she said Lena left her a message saying she needed a few days away and she’d be back by Friday.”

“So,” said Alex, “sounds like you should wait until Friday.”

“She missed our date, Alex.”

There was a heavy, uncomfortable pause. Alex went very still, examining Kara with calculating eyes. She picked up a pen and toyed with it in both hands, frowning.

“Maybe she just needs space?”

“Why would she need space. I’m her best friend. We were having Sunday brunch. We have Sunday brunch every Sunday.”

Alex rocked slightly in her desk chair.

“Okay. I’ll order Brainy to start a search and we’ll see if we can pin her down, but Kara… she’s your friend. Sometimes friends need space. Something may have come up.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Then why wouldn’t she tell me? She wouldn’t just ghost me, Alex. I’m telling you she wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Alex began, “alright, like I said, we’ll start a search.”

She said something else, but Alex’s voice was drowned out by another.

Lex.

“Hello, Kara. Don’t move, don’t react. I’ve hacked the DEO systems and I’m broadcasting on a frequency your charming sister can’t hear, only you. You’re going to follow my instructions. Say okay, or there will be consequences.”

“Okay, Alex,” said Kara, “I’ll go home and try to relax.”

Kara had to use every ounce of her Kryptonian control over her muscles and breathing to appear calm.

“I’ll let you know if we wind anything.”

Kara nodded and turned to leave.

“Go to your locker, and change. You’ll find one of my agents has left a note with an address. Go there, and do not change back into that cheerful little costume of yours. This one is for Kara Danvers.

Thinking along the way, Kara walked silently to the locker room. Once she was inside, and free of cameras, she hurriedly texted Alex, urging her not to react or do anything obvious but that the system had been compromised and there was at least one Cadmus goon in the building.

Then, she changed. The note was in the pocket of her shirt.

Grinding her teeth, Kara left the DEO as a human did, on foot, and traversed National City as a human did, slowly. It didn’t take long for her to spot the drones; she was being watched.

The address wasn’t far, a small commercial building about ten blocks from the DEO, a nondescript brick block with roll-up garage doors not unlike a dozen others on the same street. Kara walked around to the side of the building where a glass door buzzed and unlocked.

Kara opened it and stepped inside. Immediately inside the entrance was just an empty vestibule with an occupied receptionists’s counter and an old chair. A sticky note hung on the wall with an arrow.

Following it, Kara found a solid door that was lined on the inside with lead, as were the walls, of course. She turned the knob, super-hearing amplifying the turning of its oiled core, and stepped through.

On the other side was a large pod hooked up to a variety of tubes and cables. As she walked in, Kara passed a bank of monitors lining the wall with the door. A Bluetooth speaker sat on a folding table. Lex’s voice carried from it.

“Hello, Kara.”

“What is this?”

“I know you’ve been frantically looking for my sister. She’s been here the entire time. Look- but don’t touch. You won’t like the consequences.”

As he spoke, the outer shell of the pod rotated open, revealing a tank of amber liquid. Lena floated inside, an oxygen mask on her face and sensors stuck to her body. She was dressed in a black bodysuit, and looked changed somehow. Kara wasn’t sure how, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Sleeping beauty herself.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Well,” said Lex, “it’s quite a long story and you’re a bit too dull to grasp the complexity so I’ll sum up: a little bit of Harun-El here, a bit of your DNA that my mother stole there, and a tiny sprinkle of a special bespoke Kryptonite with a very short half life… the short answer is that I’ve given my sister superpowers.”

Kara blinked.

“You… what? Why?”

Lex laughed, tinny and distant. “It’s simple really. It’s all about the final, secret ingredient, another type of Kryptonite radiation courtesy of my… what’s the word I’m looking for… my inferior imitator, Max Lord. You may remember it.”

“Lex,” Kara said. “What did you do?”

“Let me show you.”

The pod’s inner transparent walls opened and dumped Lena on the floor. She landed on her knees, gasping as she yanked the mask away from her mouth and stood up.

“Kara?” she said. “Where are we? How did we get here? I was about to leave for… I feel strange.”

Lena looked at her with wide wild eyes and Kara edged closer, her heart pounding harder with every step. Her dark hair was slicked back over her neck from the fluid in the tank and she looked pale, but her cheeks were just a touch fuller.

Then it hit Kara, why Lena had looked different. She looked to have put on fifteen pounds at least of muscle, adding a blocky quality to her shoulders, thickening her legs and biceps. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Lena dear,” said the tinny speaker, “sister mine. I must tell you something.”

Lena winced. “Why is he so loud? Wait, Lex? What is this? What did you do?”

Kara froze, a cold ball forming in her stomach. Oh great Rao.

She could see it. A faint hint of a red sparkle in the whites of Lena’s eyes.

Courtesy of Max Lord.

“Lena,” said Kara. “Listen, okay? Try to stay calm. I’ll get you som help.”

“No, listen to me,” Lex said. “I have a little secret to tell you.”

Lena’s gaze snapped around to the speaker. Behind Kara, the monitors turned on, and Lena’s eyes went wide. Kara paused for a moment and then turned, dread coiling like a serpent in her guts.

One monitor showed her catching a bullet. Another, yanking open her shirt to reveal the crest. Another… another… another. There was even one with a feed of her changing out of her suit in the DEO locker room.

“Kara Danvers,” Lex intoned, “is Supergirl. She lied to you. She’s been lying to you. She’s always lied to you. It’s just as I said- the alien has been using you since the start.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “He’s lying.”

Lena looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. “About you being Supergirl?”

“No, I am,” Kara admitted, “but I would never use you. I have my reasons why I didn’t tell you and I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first you need help. Lex has poisoned you. You will get very sick if we don’t take you back to the DEO.”

“So she can take your powers!” Lex said. “The powers I gave you. I didn’t poison you, I made you a god. We’re going be gods together, Lena. Once we rid the world of these alien freaks we’ll show the world a better tomorrow.”

“Lex,” said Lena, “shut the fuck up.”

“She lied, she lied!” the speaker cackled.

Lena looked at it. “Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you’ve dealt with the Kryptonian.”

Lena smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a baring of teeth.

“I see. I need a moment in private with Kara.”

Lena glanced at the speaker and it exploded in a shower of sparks and melted plastic, leaving scorch marks on the table.

Oh Rao. It took Kara years to use her heat vision. Lena had tapped into it in what, a minute?

“Lena,” Kara said, as softly as she dared. “I need you to listen to me.”

“No, you’re going to listen.”

Lena blurred. The impact shook Kara to the bones, rattled her teeth in the sockets. Before she knew what happened, she was against the wall, wrists held firmly in Lena’s hands, pinned above her head. Lena leaned in close, languidly pressing her entire body against Kara’s.

“Do you remember,” Lena husked, “that day in my office when you were being a little brat about doing your job and I called you to the carpet for it?”

Kara blinked.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I don’t think brat is the word I’d chose.”

“I would,” Lena said, her voice low and sultry, as she looked at Kara through her lashes. “That’s exactly what you were until I put you in your place, and then you were ready to be a good girl for me.”

Kara’s brain short circuited. It took her a half minute to stammer a few nonsense syllables as a jolt shot up her spine from low in her hips to the crown of her head, like she’d been plunged into frigid water.

Kara stared back at her, feeling a strange squirming pressure that she quickly realized was Lena pushing her thighs apart with one of her own, pressing her knee between them to drive her thigh muscle into Kara, against the apex of her legs.

“Interesting,” Lena whispered, her blow eyes scanning Kara’s features. “The flush is obvious… but the heat bloom on your skin and the pupil dilation.”

Kara gasped.

“See,” Lena whispered into Kara’s lips. “Good girl.”

Kara honest to God whimpered.

“My brother. Silly boy, probably thought I was going to go into a rage and kill you because you lied to me for so long.”

Kara nodded. “Yeah that was probably his plan.”

“He’s such a silly goose,” said Lena. “I’m sure he’ll be surprised when I rip his head off his neck.”

“Lena!”

“Oh come on, you know you want to. You must have thought about it. It would be so easy to just… finish it.”

“I have,” Kara admitted, “but it wouldn’t be right. I can’t just murder a man in cold blood.”

Lena’s body undulated against her.

“Please stop.”

“Why?”

“He exposed you to Red Kryptonite. You’re not thinking straight. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“It seems I’m the one who’s pinned you, miss Danvers. I don’t think you’re taking advantage.”

“Lena,” Kara said, “I want to talk, okay? I want to talk about all of this and… and take things slow. Your brother is probably watching this.”

“Let him,” said Lena. “I’ll be the icing on the cake. You know all this sturm and drang of his is just Lex throwing a tantrum because Clark wouldn’t fuck him.”

“Lena!”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kara. The way you look at my tits. We both know you want this.”

“Okay maybe I was looking,” Kara admitted, breathing harder. “You’re v-very… very pretty and I’ve been feeling things for you for a long time and… and Lena please I don’t want to do this like this.”

Lena drew back.

“You’re terrified.”

Kara nodded, biting her lip. Slowly, Lena released her grip on Kara’s wrists and stepped back.

“Please come with me to the DEO. It hasn’t been long but the longer you go without treatment the worse you’ll get. Pretty soon it won’t matter if I say no.”

Lena recoiled, horrified. “I would… I would never.”

“When I was poisoned like this, I threw Cat Grant off a building.”

“Apparently, it didn’t work. I’m sure she had it coming.”

“I almost killed Alex.”

Lena frowned. “Oh.”

Kara extended a hand. “Come with me, okay?”

Lena hesitated, then closed a firm grip around Kara’s outstretched palm and let Kara lead her back to the door. Kara took a sharp breath and guided Lena outside.

As soon as they hit the open air, Lena clapped her hands over her ears and screamed.

“Kara! Kara, what’s happening, what is this?”

“It’s your super-senses. Just try to focus on one sound. Here.”

Kara pulled her into an embrace, guiding her ear to Kara’s chest as Eliza once did for her. Gritting her teeth, Lena locked her arms around Kara and breathed hard, squeezing Kara’s ribs.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

Finally, Alex showed up with five vans full of DEO agents. Kara focused on guiding Lena into the back of one of the vans.

“Was he here?” said Alex.

“Clear the building and all that but get us back to the DEO now,” Kara demanded. “Tell Brainy to get the Red K protocol ready.”

“What? Oh God, Kara, have you been exposed?”

“No, Lena has.”

Alex blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Just get us back!”

Alex turned and made a motion at the driver and the van backed into a j-turn. Lena was still clinging to her.

“Kara, it’s too much, it hurts.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get you some noise canceling headphones when we get back. Just listen to my heart, okay?”

Lena nodded against her chest.

When they finally arrived, Kara gently picked Lena up and carried her inside and directly to the med bay, laying her on a the sunbed, while Brainy helped Alex set up the Red Kryptonite scrubber protocol.

Lena relaxed into the bed as Kara placed the headphones on her.

“Kara,” said Alex. “A word.”

Kara followed her outside, then immediately dumped everything on her.

Alex blinked a few times.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” said Kara.

“You didn’t have to be that detailed, Kara. I could have gone without you describing Lena doing the knee thing to my little sister.”

“The what?”

Alex rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. She’s going to be okay. Except she has superpowers now. She still needs a complete physical, just to make sure he didn’t do anything else, no surprises.”

“Right.”

“I can’t believe that was his whole plan. Make Lena a super and expose her to Red Kryptonite?”

“If he could give her powers, he could give himself powers, or someone else. This is serious, Alex.”

“I know, but seriously, what did he think was going to happen? She’d lose her mind and attack you?”

“I think that was the idea, yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is a lot. One step at a time. We’ll need to find him. Let your girl sleep off the treatments and we’ll talk to her, see what she knows that might help us.”

“My girl?” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes.

Kara was on the balcony when Lena joined her, having changed into a borrowed set of DEO fatigues. She nervously walked out into the night air and leaned next to Kara.

“Have you adjusted to the noise?”

“Yes, but I…” she trailed off.

Lena stood up and her gaze fell upwards. She stared at the sky, dumbfounded.

“There’s… there’s an aurora. There’s an aurora and… colors. My God, is this how you see it?”

“Yeah,” Kara said softly, too busy staring at Lena.

Finally, Lena looked at her.

“About earlier. I’m sorry. I pushed boundaries and… thinking about it scared me. I would never hurt you, Kara.”

“I know,” said Kara. “I know that, but I also know what it’s like to be exposed to that stuff, to have all your worst thoughts come to the surface. To not feel control of yourself. I forgive you.”

Lena nodded, wringing her hands.

“About what I said, though.”

“About what you said.”

Kara turned and lunged, pulling Lena to her, lifting her slightly off her feet. Lena’s eyes went wide.

“Is this okay?”

Lena blinked a few times and nodded.

Kara kissed her.

She kissed her freely, without worrying about injuring her. She held her the same way, pressing firmly. Lena’s hands curled around her arms with stunning strength and Kara felt her belly do a backflip as Lena actually pushed her back a step and into the balcony railing.

Kara didn’t have to worry about hurting her. She didn’t have to hold back. Lena apparently had never even considered holding back, because she was apparently going for the Knee Thing again. Kara thought she heard the sound of something cracking, but that made no sense.

“Kara!” Alex barked.

Kara broke from the kiss, looking over Lena’s shoulder to find Alex glaring at her.

“Kara,” said Alex, “I’m glad you two dipshits finally realized that you’re dating, but please do not destroy the building.”

Kara furrowed her brows, then looked down to realize that her butt had cratered the retraining wall behind her.

“Oh,” said Kara. “Right.”

“We need to talk about next steps. Lena, I need to know what you know about-“

“Lex is, or was, at an old LuthorCorp satellite lab in Central City. I recognized the background sounds while he was talking.”

“Oh. Okay. We should-“

“Later,” said Lena.

Alex put her fists on her hips. “I don’t work for you, Luthor.”

“True, but your sister does,” said Lena. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Um, yes,” Kara said softly.

“I hate my life,” Alex muttered, as she stormed back inside.

Lena turned her full attention back to Kara, tilting her chin down to look at her through her eyelashes and smirk.

“Now, let’s pick up where we left off.”

[heartsiebyul]

Hey! I was wondering how the third years would react to a reader that is panicking every time somebody tries to get them into a deep body of water? Like they get wide eyed and would get violent if a person would try to forcefully drag them into the water after almost drowning while learning to swim and they therefore don’t know how to swim.

Sorry if the ask is long I was just thinking about how they would react to my trauma response near water.

How Twisted Wonderland characters would react to you panicking near water due to your past near-drowning trauma.

NRC Third Years

Trey Clover

Trey’s eyes widen in concern the moment he sees your panic—your eyes blown wide, breath hitching, muscles tensing. He immediately steps between you and whoever's trying to pull you in.

"Hey, hey. Back off—can’t you see they’re scared?"

He keeps his tone calm and grounded, hands up as he approaches you slowly. He won’t touch you unless you allow it. Once you're out of immediate danger, he leads you somewhere dry and quiet.

"You don’t have to explain, (name). But if you ever want to talk about it… I’ll listen, okay?"

And he’ll never, ever try to push you into water. Instead, he makes sure people know your boundaries and subtly steers conversations or activities away from pools or lakes.

Cater Diamond

Cater’s usual easygoing charm vanishes in an instant when he sees the terror in your eyes. He jumps in between you and the water like a shield, grabbing the arm of whoever was dragging you.

"Yo, not cool! Look at them—they’re freaking out!"

He crouches down to your level, his phone forgotten in his back pocket for once, eyes wide with worry.

"You’re okay, (name). You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Later, Cater tries to cheer you up with silly distractions or comfort food, but he also respects the gravity of your fear. If you’re ready to talk, he listens with unexpected sincerity.

Leona Kingsholar

The moment you lash out, Leona’s instincts kick in. He grabs your wrist—not to stop you, but to steady you—and growls at the offender.

"Are you stupid? Don’t touch them like that."

He keeps you tucked behind him, his body a warm, solid barrier between you and the water. His eyes are sharp, not at you, but at whoever triggered your reaction.

Afterwards, he’s silent for a while. Then, quietly:

"You almost drowned, didn’t you?"

He doesn’t press you. He just stays close, a silent guardian lounging near but never too far. Anyone trying that again? They'll have to answer to him first.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil immediately sees the fear in your eyes. His face tightens, his voice commanding.

"Enough. Step away from them. Now."

He approaches you with gentle, regal grace, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

"Breathe with me, (name). In… and out. That’s it."

Once you’re safe, he won’t let it go unaddressed. Vil won’t pry, but he’ll sit with you, hands folded delicately.

"You should have told me. I could’ve made sure this never happened. No one has the right to disregard your trauma—not even for something ‘fun.’"

He’ll personally ensure no one tries that again. Water activities? Not unless you say yes.

Rook Hunt

The moment your panic shifts to violence, Rook’s expression changes from curious to deadly serious.

"Non, non, non—mon chasseur! They are frightened. Release them!"

He’s at your side instantly, his movements surprisingly grounded, protective. He gently pulls you away, cradling you like something precious.

"You were close to death once, weren’t you? The water still whispers to you in nightmares..."

His words may sound theatrical, but there’s an undercurrent of raw sincerity. He treats your fear as sacred, something not to be dismissed.

"Tell me where your comfort lies, and I shall be your bow and arrow, guarding you always."

Idia Shroud

Idia’s already uncomfortable around water, so when you panic, his anxiety spikes too—but for you. His tablet clatters to the ground when he sees your face.

"Wait, wait—(name)?! D-don’t touch them!"

He waves his hands frantically, practically teleporting to your side. He’s terrified of making things worse, but he’d still rather suffer than watch you crumble.

Once you’re safe and calm, he sits cross-legged beside you, hoodie pulled over his head.

"That was, uh… really scary. I mean—for you. I didn’t know you were—"

He stops rambling and just looks at you.

"If you ever wanna talk about it, or not talk, or just play a game to forget it, I’m here. You’re not weird for this."

Malleus Draconia

The second your panic spikes, Malleus’s magic crackles faintly in the air. He steps forward like a shadow given form, eyes glowing with quiet fury.

"You will not touch them again."

His presence alone is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. He walks over to you slowly, carefully, crouching before you like one would before a frightened creature of legend.

"You have been harmed by water. It has left its mark on your soul."

He speaks like he understands—because in some ways, he does. He won’t force healing on you, but he’ll offer safety, always.

"You need not fear. I shall be your storm now. None shall drag you where you do not wish to go."

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia’s cheerful facade vanishes in an instant when he sees your reaction. He flashes between you and the aggressor like a blur, his voice suddenly dark.

"That’s enough. You’re scaring them."

His tone is sharp—dangerous—in a way few get to witness. He kneels beside you, all gentleness now, and eyes warm.

"It’s alright, (name). You’re not in the water. You’re safe."

Later, he hums softly, guiding you through a dry land.

"I’ve lived a long time, and I know this—fear born of survival is never weakness. You lived. That makes you strong."

He respects your boundaries and never jokes about it. If anything, he teaches others to respect them too—with or without words.

I hope you’re doing well, pal! Take your time healing, okay?

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Bellara (and also the Veil Jumpers, and other random Elven things) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Bellara

Family and past:

Bellara’s mother is a woodworker who sells furniture in Orlais, and her father is an herbalist. He taught her about deadly plants (for her own safety)

Bellara didn’t tell her parents about Cyrian’s (second) death

Bellara once broke both of her arms while racing an Aravel 

Bellara learnt magic from her Keeper and later the Veil Jumpers, but she also studied a lot on her own by reading books and just trying things out

When she was little, Bellara wondered what it’s like to settle down instead of moving all the time (just like Davrin did) 

General:

Bellara can better focus on writing when she has background noise (like Rook talking)

Bellara likes tea (but can also drink coffee after she pulls an all-nighter, which seems to happen pretty often)

Bellara liked Lucanis’s grilled fish

Bellara didn’t know any Qunari recipes before joining the Veilguard

Bellara wouldn’t want to be an assassin, but she would be interested in taking lessons from Crows about assassination techniques

Bellara thinks that most people in Tevinter are condescending, even the nice ones 

Magic and life with the Veil Jumpers: 

Bellara once found an artifact that was basically an ancient elven mechanical toothbrush 

Bellara is a Veil Jumper because Arlathan is her home, and she can’t stand by and do nothing. Also, because of the artefacts

Part of the reason why Irelin and Bellara broke up is that Bellara became too consumed by studying/fixing artefacts 

Bellara and Davrin agree that the Veil Jumpers’ odds are even worse than the Wardens’

Bellara thinks that the ancient Elven magic feels cold

Bellara didn’t find anything on the Devouring Storm in the libraries or Circles. Vorgoth and Myrna never heard of it either 

Life at the Lighthouse: 

Bellara owns a bronze candleholder shaped like a fennec

Bellara thinks that the Fade in the Lighthouse is almost too calm compared to Arlathan

Bellara likes her space in the Lighthouse and feels like “it's been waiting for her”

The Archive sometimes stares at people who come by

Bellara eventually suggests that she and Lucanis completely take over the cooking. Everybody except for Harding dreaded any meal not cooked by them anyway and gleefully agreed

Antoine let Bellara borrow his compound for flaming arrows to see how it reacts in the Fade (she doesn’t speak about the results, but she used at least one compound for testing without incidents and later wants to borrow more) 

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara offers Davrin to listen about his findings regarding the Gloom Howler as he searches for the missing griffons, saying she's a good listener

Bellara asks Neve if she can become a Shadow Dragon and is very excited when she hears “Yes”

However, when Emmrich offers her to join the Mourn Watch, she turns him down saying that the Veil Jumpers need her. 

A writing inconsistency. Probably. 

Neve once saw Bellara poking around Assan, trying to figure out if he was real or some clever mechanical contraption 

Bellara wants to make pillows out of Assan’s molted feathers (but Davrin refuses because he finds it weird)

Bellara made dog biscuits for Assan (that Davrin accidentally ate the first time). The next time she brought a batch, she left them in a box labelled “Assan biscuits inside, do not eat.” Assan liked them!

Bellara once covered Assan in olive oil thinking it could improve his wind resistance and let him fly faster. Didn’t work. 

Bellara offers Emmrich to co-author a paper about ancient elves after they find out elves came from spirits

Bellara asks Emmrich about vampires multiple times. According to him, when a Hunger Demon possesses a corpse, the resulting abomination can seek out blood, sort of resembling a vampire. They can't turn into bats though

According to Neve, some magisters in Minrathous have tried bonding with Hunger Demons which resulted in them having immense power but also a craving for blood 

Bellara and Harding swap books for reading

Bellara gets into lifting using Harding's rocks

Bellara doesn’t think she needs to threaten Lucanis when she finds out he and Neve are dating because Neve could wipe the floor with him herself if she wanted (Lucanis agrees) 

Bellara is fine with Lucanis taking on Ghilan’nain’s contract (“Whatever we were worshipping, it wasn’t her") and cheered him on at Weisshaupt

Bellara asks Neve to beta-read her story

(If Neve and Rook are in romance) Bellara thinks that solving cases together is romantic

(If Neve leaves after Rook chooses to save Treviso) Bellara kept notes of everything that happened while Neve was away to help her adjust after she’s back

About the Veil Jumpers:

Bellara mentioned that a certain elf camped in some ruins, and one day woke up stuck in the clouds. The Veil Jumpers haven’t figured out a way to get them down, so they just send them food and water

Veil Jumpers use some of the artefacts they have recovered as weapons. However, they don’t use them often, since most of them need to be charged after one use, and nobody really knows how to do that 

Veil Jumpers eat whatever Arlathan Forest provides

Though Bellara also mentions she doesn’t forage in the forest anymore. Strife does, however, he always finds something edible

It’s hard to say how many Veil Jumpers are out there because people die/go missing/leave too often to keep a proper count

The Veil Jumpers once found an artefact that caused whoever activated it to get sucked into the Fade. One guy got trapped inside because he used it even if the others told him not to. Bellara is weirdly nonchalant about that whole thing

The Veil Jumpers once found something like an entrance to the Deep Roads on the Southern Edge of Arlathan Forest. The group that found it sealed themselves inside and destroyed the entrance, leaving a note telling the others not to enter. Davrin hypothesises it could be one of the pools similar to the one we saw in the Horrors of Hormak

Ritsivas from the Veil Jupmers is non-binary (mentioned by Harding in a conversation with Taash)  

Misc:

The power crystals are called “June'suledin'bellanaris'ena'ghilan'lasa'shiral”. You may infer the reasons everybody just calls them 'power crystals'

Not all traps in Elven ruins were originally meant to be traps, but their magic is old, so it doesn’t recognise modern people and can backfire. And sometimes magic just degrades over time and accidentally rips the Veil, summoning demons

Andruil’s Gauntlet is an ancient site meant to test hunters who want to wield the mightiest weapons. It’s filled with traps, and no one has made through it in ages. It was made by Andruil’s priests to test the warriors of Elvhenan 

Clans Nuvenis and Sabrae live in Ferelden. Harding’s village traded with the Sabrae in the past

[idkyetxoxo]

Seven | The Hurt We Carry | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.4k

Warnings - Misogyny, objectification, violence, men being stupid (what's new x)

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It was unheard of for the High Lords to gather under one roof.

Unheard of, until Amarantha had shattered the world and left us all clawing through the ruin. In the aftermath, it was inevitable to meet like this. Necessary, they said.

So they came. Reluctantly. Warily. Cloaked in scars and suspicion.

The meeting was held in Dawn Court, Thesan's hall, serene and glittering like sunlight on still water, a perfect mask for the storm brewing beneath.

We sat in silence, our breath barely altering the peace that pressed in like a spell. I was at Feyre's side, anchored by her calm. Mor sat to my right, her posture deceptively relaxed. On the other side of Feyre sat Rhys flanked by Azriel and Cassian, shadows and steel intertwined. 

A deliberate, strategic formation. 

The High Lord and his warriors. The High Lady and her warriors.

We were finally beginning to breathe. Even I had begun to feel a little like myself again, no longer the shattered thing I'd been since—

And then he arrived.

Tamlin. No fanfare, no entourage, just him, swaggering in with all the pompous arrogance of a wolf who thought himself still king of the woods. 

Every step he took across that polished floor was a blow, each one echoing too loudly against the glass and gold.

The room had almost begun to feel safe in a twisted kind of way. Almost. Until the scent of spring roses—too sweet, too wrong slithered in before him.

I sat up straighter, spine snapping taut like a bowstring. Mor's hand found mine and squeezed, grounding me. I felt Rhys's eyes flick toward me, brief, unreadable. Felt Azriel's shadows tighten around his shoulders like smoke pulled taut.

But I didn't look at any of them. My eyes were on Feyre.

She watched him without flinching. Without blinking. Her face carved of calm.

Tamlin slid into the empty seat across from us, and the silence that followed was a living thing, crawling into my bones. It hummed like a warding spell.

"So," he said, voice coated in disdain. "No one bothered to wait?"

Rhys didn't even blink. "We didn't think you'd come."

Tamlin's sneer twisted his too-handsome face. "I'm sure you would've loved that. Another chance to spin your lies about how broken and divided the Spring Court is."

His voice was thick with accusation. Like we were the ones who had torn his court apart. Like Feyre's escape—her freedom had been the crime and not his own wrongdoings.

"Is it truly a lie," Feyre asked, voice steady, "if it's the truth?"

The laugh that left Tamlin's mouth was venom wrapped in honey, sharp and slick. The kind that made your skin crawl. The kind that hid teeth.

His eyes dropped to Feyre's naked arm.

To the tattoo, the bond. The faint golden glow thrummed between her and Rhys like a heartbeat, soft and defiant. His gaze lingered there too long. A flicker of something ugly slithered through those green eyes. 

Jealousy. Bitterness. Possession.

His head tilted, slow, deliberate. A predator lining up the kill. That familiar, cruel smirk tugged at his mouth, one that once might have charmed. 

Now it reeked of something rotten beneath the gold.

"When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?" he asked Rhys, voice like silk dragged through filth.

The room fell into stunned silence. The kind of silence that screams.

The strike was calculated. Tamlin had drawn that arrow and aimed to maim. Not just Feyre, but Rhys. All of us, by extension. To strip her down, humiliate her, reduce her to nothing more than a body to be used and mocked. He wanted her to feel small. Powerless.

I wouldn't let him.

My voice was quiet, cold and cutting when I spoke. "Careful how you speak of my High Lady."

I leaned forward, every inch of the motion controlled. I crossed one leg over the other slowly, the dark silk of my onyx gown sighing like a whispered warning. A deadly sort of elegance.

His eyes flicked to me.

"Ah. The sister," Tamlin spat. "I almost forgot you were here."

The words didn't surprise me, not in the slightest. They were meant to sting but I'd heard worse. I'd survived worse.

His gaze sharpened, turned colder. Crueler. And like poison sinking into skin, he grinned. That grin. That awful, knowing grin I remembered from another life.

"If you must know, Rhysand, your sister makes a similar sound. Though hers is breathier. Desperate even."

A sound broke the stillness. Not a gasp. Not a word. A growl. Low, deep, deadly.

Azriel.

His shadows coiled tighter around him, like they could tear Tamlin apart on their own if he so much as moved again. His hands were clenched against the edge of his chair. Every muscle in his frame screamed restraint.

My lips parted, but no breath came. Still, I met Tamlin's gaze.

"You earn nothing but a reputation as a brute when you speak of females like that," I gritted out, refusing to show how deep the blade had struck. 

But the shame, the shame was coiling inside me. Cold and suffocating.

And Tamlin saw it.

He leaned in, smugness dripping off him like sweat. "Shall we talk about your reputation instead?" he murmured. "The whore of the High Lords."

"Watch your mouth," Mor snapped, leaning forward before anyone else could.

Her voice was steel wrapped in silk, beautiful and biting. "You don't get to sit there dripping sanctimony while you spit on a female who trusted you."

Tamlin's sneer widened, eyes sliding over her like she was nothing. "Ah. Of course. The Morrigan defends her kind. Birds of a feather, aren't you?"

A few snickers echoed from the Autumn side of the room.

Mor didn't flinch but her hand tightened into a fist at her side. Her jaw worked, something savage behind her teeth.

My breath caught at the exchange. Just slightly. Just enough. The cool, polished facade beneath my skin began to chip. A crack along the mask I'd worn so well.

I knew what Tamlin was reaching for before he said it. Knew the blade he was about to draw. And I had handed him the hilt myself, all those years ago.

He laughed, a sound full of delight. He could smell blood in the water now. "You've fucked Helion. You've fucked me. Is there anyone left on your conquest list, or are you waiting for a new title—maybe Supreme Whore of Prythian?"

Helion's chair creaked nearby. The sound was minute, but it was enough. His silence confirmed what needed no words. Truth. It hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Tamlin himself was betrayal personified. A lie in golden skin. A lie in a golden mask. The prince of Spring turned poison. 

Once, he had called me beloved. Once, he had kissed me like I was the only star in his sky. And then he had let me burn.

Watched as his father's hands bloodied my world. Let him murder my mother.

Helion—Helion had been a mistake. A single night between two drunken hearts looking for something that felt like warmth. Just once. Just that. And never again.

And now Tamlin took it and twisted it into something vile.

The scent of crushed roses, the glint of polished marble, it all slipped away. Replaced by sunlight. Golden and blinding. A memory.

Two hundred years ago, in the Day Court.

The Summer Solstice always brought with it a kind of reckless beauty. Endless sun, soft winds that whispered temptation, and a golden haze that made the world feel dipped in honey and heat. 

Helion had outdone himself that year, crystal fountains spraying sunlight like diamonds, flowers blooming in vivid, decadent colour. Laughter spilling like wine, and actual wine flowing by the barrel.

He had invited us. A friendly gesture, nothing out of the ordinary. And I had gone, clothed in a gown the colour of molten gold, its fabric so fine it felt like sin sliding over my skin.

I hadn't worn it for anyone in particular.

But Azriel had seen me.

He'd been leaning against one of the carved marble columns, shadows lazily coiling at his feet even in the blazing light. He wasn't supposed to glow in sunlight but somehow he did.

His eyes had found me across the garden. And for a heartbeat—maybe two, he'd forgotten to look away.

"You look like fire and honey," he'd said when I passed him later, voice low, careful. "Like something a moth would die chasing."

It had burned hotter than any compliment I'd ever received. And the look on his face, like maybe he hated himself for saying it, but couldn't stop. Like he might devour anyone who dared say the same.

He didn't touch me. Not yet.

But later, during the dancing when Helion had taken my hand and spun me with that laugh of his, all dark curls and easy charm—Azriel had appeared.

He hadn't said a word.

But his shadows surged, and the heat of his body at my back as he cut in was unmistakable. Possessive. Not rude, not obvious but intentional. His arm had wrapped just a little too tightly around my waist, his hand had brushed the bare skin of my spine like a silent brand. 

And I laughed, nervous and unsure.

I walked away after a while. Staggered from the heat and the want and the ache of it all. The music blurred. The laughter turned brittle.

And Helion, with his warm hands and warmer eyes was already there. Already smiling. Already pouring me another glass of that sun-drenched wine.

I drank. And drank. And drank.

And when Helion kissed me, I didn't stop him.

I think I just wanted to forget. Forget what? Even I didn't know.

We didn't even make it to a bed. A couch, I think. Or the floor. It was quick. A blur of heat and grasping and mouths tasting of summer wine and empty need.

It didn't mean anything. Except it did.

Because when I woke, the morning light already cruel and too bright against the gold silk clinging to my skin, he was standing there.

Azriel. In the doorway. Silent. Still. The sun behind him cast long shadows, and they clung to his wings like mourning cloth. The expression on his face, not anger, not even jealousy. Just hurt. So quiet and raw, I felt it like a blade.

Like he'd been punched in the ribs and didn't even have breath left to speak.

I said nothing. Pulled the sheet tighter around me, too proud to apologise, too ashamed to explain.

And he turned. Walked away. The door shut behind him, and something in me splintered.

I knew it had been cruel. I knew. But it was done. And no amount of wanting could undo it.

Now, the room came back into focus, too loud, too bright, even in its silence. Until there wasn't silence.

"Maybe the Night Court's whore is a more fitting title," Tamlin continued, sneering. "Considering how often your brother uses you to curry favour with the other courts."

My vision blurred. Not with tears—with rage. With shame. The kind that seeps into your bones and whispers you deserve it. The kind you carry in your silence.

"Enough," Rhys growled. "This is not what we're here to discuss."

But Tamlin wasn't the only one who wanted blood.

Beron leaned forward, his voice slick like oil. "Oh, how the mighty Night Court has fallen."

"Father," Eris said softly, warning in every syllable.

But one of the younger Autumn brothers, a pompous brute with wine-flushed cheeks and fire in his veins grinned viciously. 

"Let him speak. From what I've heard," he said, voice loud with false bravado, "the princess of the Night Court lets her lovers beat her into submission."

Chaos.

Azriel exploded from his chair like a shadow unchained. One heartbeat he was still. The next rage incarnate.

He didn't use the shadows that clung to him. Didn't use stealth or silence. No, this was pure, unrelenting wrath. Fists, fury, and flame answering flame.

The Autumn son hadn't even blinked before Azriel was on him. A blur of blue light and shadowed steel. His fist connected with the brute's jaw—once, twice, the crack of bone sharp as a whip through the room. 

Blood sprayed across the marble floor, vivid and awful.

Gasps rang out like bells. Chairs scraped. Mor shouted his name, rushing forward. Thesan surged to his feet. Magic rippled in the air, a gathering storm.

I didn't move. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Frozen.

Tamlin's words still slithered beneath my skin. Not just insults. Weapons. Every syllable had been dipped in venom, aimed to twist and cut where it would bleed the most.

Lies, yes, but ones too close to truths I'd whispered to myself in the dark. Lies coated in a shame that wrapped around my ribs and made it hard to breathe. Like oil slicking down my throat, choking me from the inside out.

I felt their eyes—everyone's, but I couldn't lift my gaze.

My breath hitched. Shallow. Quick. A tremble coiled in my chest, threatening to shake me apart.

"Azriel!" Mor's voice cracked as she reached for him, but he didn't hear her. Or he didn't care.

Because this wasn't just anger. This was defence. This was vengeance. This was Azriel saying with his fists what he could not say with words.

Beron's voice thundered across the room, laced with panic and fury. Flames burst from his fingertips, arcing like whips across the floor toward Azriel.

But Azriel raised his hand, calm amidst the chaos, and summoned a shield of shimmering blue that shattered the fire before it could reach him. The flames hissed, clawed, and then died useless against him.

Still, I sat. Still, I said nothing because inside me, shame and guilt coiled like serpents.

Not for what had been said but for how deeply I believed it. For every night, I'd let those words live in me. Fester in me. For how I had come to wear them like armour, as if I deserved them.

Rhys's eyes met mine. Wide. Worried. Begging me to say something. Do something.

I couldn't.

"Come Azriel," Feyre said. Her voice was calm, too calm. It slid into the chaos like a knife made of command.

The Shadowsinger stilled. 

Breathing hard, blood dripping from his knuckles, his wings flaring behind him—he looked back. Not at the Autumn brute who now groaned on the floor, holding a shattered jaw. At me. His eyes, wild and burning, met mine across the room. And something in them changed.

My gaze softened. Just enough.

He blinked. Once. Then turned and walked back to his seat, slow and heavy. Each step bled fury. He sat. Silent. Bloody. Seething. But he was back.

The meeting resumed, tense and strained. Every word after was measured. Forced. But the damage was done. The cracks had split too deep.

I didn't look back up. I couldn't.

Not even when Rhys scraped against my mental shields, a whisper reaching through.

He will pay for everything he's said.

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know who he meant.

Tamlin? Beron? That vile Autumn brute whose name I couldn't recall?

Or was it me?

Because in that moment, the worst voice of all was mine. The one whispering that... they were right.

A/n - Obviously, I wasn’t going to let the peace last... not just yet.

There’s a lot of slut-shaming and misogyny in this chapter—something I don’t endorse and I apologise for but it’s important to the narrative and to the moment Az finally snaps.

Ik what reader did with Helion was cruel to Az, but I needed a memory that showed just how long they’ve been dancing around this yearning and infatuation. Years and years of it!!

And despite everything… we still get Az protecting her 😼😼 I needed the meeting to happen for a vague reason, so no Nesta and no Hybern—it had to stay focused on reader.

BUT NEXT CHAPTER…WHEW. Everyone should mentally prepare, I’m dropping a bomb x

Hopefully, I can seek forgiveness later but for now, I hope you all enjoyed. <3

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where Oliver is the only one who knows Batman and Robin’s secret IDs

I want Bruce and Oliver to be bffs best pals. They were roommates in boarding school. They’ve known each other practically their whole lives. Oliver was one of the first people Bruce introduced Dick to when he adopted him (because this Bruce would absolutely adopt Dick immediately), and Dick calls him Uncle Ollie. They hang out all the time. If Dick is ever at a gala and is uncomfortable or tired or scared or just needs help convincing a waiter to give him an extra dessert, Dick knows Uncle Ollie will always help if Bruce is unavailable.

So of course Bruce lets Oliver in on the secret of Batman and Robin. It’s only natural. Plus, he’s glad to have an extra hero who knows their secret in case Robin ever needs help.

Once they form the Justice League though, Batman doesn’t trust most of them around Robin. Because of this, Robin isn’t super well known amongst the League members. They know OF him, but they’ve only actually met him once or twice. Superman and Wonder Woman have met him a fair few times, but only because Bruce trusts them more than the average JL member.

But still, only Oliver knows who they are behind the masks. Oliver takes it very seriously, because he knows how paranoid Bruce is. He wouldn’t compromise their secret identities, he wouldn’t even joke about.

Which is why it’s such a shock to everyone when Batman is late for one of their monthly meetings, and instead they’re greeted by a panicked Robin who comes running through a zeta tube and launches himself at Green Arrow.

“Uncle Ollie! Uncle Ollie!” he shrieks. “You have to help, you have to help him! Please, you have to help!”

“What happened, what’s wrong?” Oliver is quick to ask, catching Robin and holding him. “Robin, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Agent A is on vacation. He’s not home. It was just us,” Robin says quickly. “I dunno what - it was Scarecrow - it’s a new fear toxin and I dunno how to help ‘cause our usual anti-toxin isn’t working and he’s going crazy in the cave and I can’t help him I don’t know how to help him you have to help him!”

“Robin - Robin, listen to me, alright? Everything is gonna be fine. Just breathe with me, okay?” He’s holding a hand flat on Robin’s chest, trying to help him calm down. “But you have to tell me, were you hit with the fear toxin too?”

Dick nods. Dick is ten and he’s terrified because he was hit by the fear toxin too, but Bruce covered him quickly and he wasn’t hit with as much as Bruce was and he doesn’t know what to do.

And the rest of the JL is now on high alert, because one of their founding members was apparently hit by a new strain of fear toxin, and his child sidekick was too. And as far as they all know, none of them have access to the batcave to go help him, and they sure as hell aren’t sending a terrified Robin back by himself.

“I’m gonna go help him, okay?” Oliver says gently. “But I need you to stay up here.”

“No! No!” Dick cries. “Take me with you!”

“I can’t do that, Robin,” Oliver is being so soft with him that it’s actually freaking everyone else out. “You’re gonna stay up here with Superman, alright? He’s your favorite, isn’t he?”

“B is my favorite,” Dick cries, sounding completely miserable. “I just say Superman ‘cause it’s funny to mess with him.”

“Well Superman is your second favorite then, isn’t he?”

“No, you’re my second favorite,” Dick whines. “Take me with you!”

“Your third favorite then!” Oliver laughs, wiping away the tears that spill through Robin’s mask. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna go help him. But you need to stay here.”

“But how will I know he’s okay?”

“I’ll call as soon as I have the new anti-toxin figured out. I promise.”

He passes Robin over to Superman and then goes to the zeta tubes, using an override Batman have him to enter the batcave.

And everyone is so freaked out, but they’re trying to stay calm so Robin doesn’t feel any worse.

Oliver ends up just knocking Bruce out so he can figure out the new anti-toxin in peace. He maybe has to call Flash from the batcave to get some help with the sciencey shit. He administers it to Bruce as soon as it’s done, then takes a dose up to Dick on the Watchtower. It ends up making Dick so drowsy he just falls asleep.

They both wake up in the med bay the next morning, Oliver sitting in the corner watching their stats to make sure they’re still alright.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Rescue

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical violence, brief blood, secret feelings, mutual affection

Word Count: 800

A/N: Requested by @kakashipandadog for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Cult Sacrifice)

You’re captured on a scouting mission, believing that you’re being left to your fate. At your most desperate moment, help arrives.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

The stones are singing. Chanting.

That is all you see and sense. There is solid rock beneath your palm and pressed against your cheek. Voices upon voices all communing in unison wrap around you, and yet there is something deeper here you cannot place. Perhaps if you just blink away the haze or rub at your eyes, your vision will clear and it will come to you.

Have you failed your king? You must have. Why else are you so disoriented?

You attempt to stretch, to move your limbs, but scratchy resistance greets you, rubbing against your leather armor and bits of exposed skin.

Groaning, you close your eyes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The chanting becomes clearer—becomes guttural.

No. The stones are not singing. Nor do the trees. These are voices. Living and present.

On your next exhalation, you twist just enough and see a dark sky above you. There are no stars—just a void. Around you are torches, burning bright with fire but providing no warmth. You are tied down with rope to a large stone slab. Around you are orcs, circling your restrained body, beating their chests and stomping their feet.

From their mouths comes the language of their maker. Black Speech. An abomination. You do not know the words or what they mean but you recognize it for what it is.

There is no hope here.

You are to be sacrificed to something and no one is coming to rescue you.

This was supposed to be simple scouting. King Thranduil gave you instructions, but you've failed to return. Will he send someone to find you? Or is your fate already sealed?

With what little movement you have, you attempt to search for your weapons. While your bow and quiver of arrows are gone, the orcs may have overlooked the hidden daggers. Orcs are not particularly smart and it’s entirely possible you might find something sharp to cut your way out. Defending yourself is a different matter. There are several dozen orcs, and if you only wield a small knife, you may not make it far once you’ve freed yourself from your bonds.

The chanting increases, becoming a crescendo. One of the orcs breaks from the group moving toward you with their serrated blade held high. It raises it over its head, ready and poised to bring it down.

Your fingers splay wide, roaming down to grasp at your boot. This is your last chance.

It's malicious grin wanes, body seizing suddenly as if frozen in ice as it prepares to drive the blade home.

You don't know what to make of this until your gaze drops and lands on the blade sticking out the orcs stomach. The point of the metal is coated in black blood.

Your eyes widen as it's yanked out and the orc falls sideways, revealing King Thranduil.

He's ethereal and calm, blade already spinning to strike another orc down.

He came for you.

King Thranduil did not come alone. There are several other Elves with him, each with blade or bow, cutting through the small horde of orcs with ease.

Hope rises, and with it comes a wave of determination. With another twist, you manage to reach your boot, an in it, a dagger. Removing it, you turn it on the rope, sawing as fast as you can as everything around you descends into chaos.

The threads fray, and the rope snaps. You move to the next, already feeling lighter. It is unraveling—loosening—but it is entirely too slow. At the moment, you are at the mercy of others. Though you are being rescued, you still have to depend on yourself.

An orc comes rushing forward as just as you start on the final tightened rope holding you in place. You saw at it manically, breath coming in quick bursts as you ready for the incoming blow. You might not have the use of your legs but you have your arms.

The orc swings—and the rope snaps.

Turning the blade handle around in your palm, you thrust upward, sinking the knife into the orc’s throat.

It gurgles, dark blood bubbling in its mouth.

Withdrawing the knife brings more blood with it, and the orc keels over, hitting the ground hard.

King Thranduil appears behind it, sword raised and at the ready, his gaze following the corpse. That icy stare turns on you, becoming soft and concerned. There is momentarily flare of affection that blooms in your chest.

You hastily swat the feeling away. It’s not something you can act on.

“You came for me,” you say, voice slightly raspy from disuse.

That softness only intensifies in his eyes, and it resonates, wrapping you up in quiet comfort.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind.”

[nutmegtales]

Alive again - Part 7

"I will help"

Danny's words are met with... Not quite sighs of relief, but the release of breaths that were clearly being held.

"But" he's certain they all expected the but "I have conditions" his gaze lands once again on the small ornate box and lingers there a while "and I expect payment afterwards, regardless of how this all turns out".

Batman and Constantine share a suspicious glance. Red hood rolls his eyes, though no one can see it beneath his mask. They may haggle and barter for the best deal they can, but he was willing to bet B and the rest were just as desperate as him to make this deal, they'd just about agree to anything at this point.

It turns out the Ghost Kings demands weren't all that unreasonable. They'd read about the kinds of deals that got made in the past, live sacrifices, whole lineages erased from history, entire countries given up in servitude. Something must have changed before now because this king was making no such demands.

No not whole lineages, or entire countries. All he'd asked was for a single soul. A single soul to bind with his and anchor him here to this reality. He'd said it was so he could assume a form that was safe for the people of this reality, that without it his power could crush the whole world without him even meaning too.

Green Arrow had scoffed at that. If the king had that kind of power, why couldn't he just wave his hand and cure everything. The king's answer was pretty simple, he'd stared at green arrow till the hero shifted uncomfortably in his seat before gesturing at himself and saying "ghost king?" with such incredulity that arrow hadn't opened his mouth again after that.

Now they were debating who to offer. Constantine had offered himself up first, eager as ever for an Eldritch twink. The king had scrunched up his nose at that "no offense, but no thanks. Your soul smells like damp cigarettes... and I'm pretty sure it's not even yours to offer at this point". Constantine seemed to take it in stride, shrugging off the comment and proclaiming it was worth a shot.

B was next, of course he fucking was that self sacrificing idiot. And even worse the king seemed to be actually considering it. He'd looked B up and down and actually sniffed at the air "mmmmmmaaaaaybe, your will is clearly strong enough to take it, and you certainly reek of death enough to be compatible...".

No. Fuck no. He felt the pits whisper in his ears and burn in his skin. Jason would Not allow B to do this, to take this from him. This king, this being of death, he could feel him. He could feel himself around him, parts of himself beyond just anger. He had somehow calmed the pit rage, soothed it to a bubbling laughter. It was terrifying and overwhelming and exhilarating and he was not going to let B take this opportunity from him.

"Fuck No" his first slammed through the table he was sitting at, splintering it apart as he pushed himself to his feet "It's me. End of, so back the fuck off Old man".

Danny could feel the rage pouring off the one he'd learnt goes by Red Hood. Could feel it building as he considered the other before him, the offer from Batman. Batman himself was tempting. A man so shrouded in death he tasted like a liminal. Like someone who was practically a ghost already, all that was left was to actually die. He'd be fitting as an anchor, it's true. But he knew who he really wanted.

Danny turned his thoughts to that rage as it built, he could practically hear it whispering it's demands, could feel it writhing and rotten under the other mans skin. What the fuck is that? It wasn't the feeling of a core, he was certain of that now. It was too sharp and jagged and fractured for that. Maybe he was possessed, or had been a halfa with a core and shattered it somehow, or... His musings were cut off by the mans sudden outburst, the fury practically tangible now, he pushed out some of his power to soothe the jagged edges of it, and muffle the insidious whispers. He felt gratified as he saw the man, so taught with rage he seemed ready to snap, responded to his soothing and softened at the edges just slightly.

He grinned ear to ear like the cat that caught the canary "Sold".

The rest was simple, some supplies and Constantine's help to seal the metaphorical door he'd come through, and a contract ensuring that at the end of all this, no matter the outcome, that ornate box would be His.

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[actuallybean]

SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST

Last Updated: 7/16/2025

DEAN WINCHESTER

One-Shots

What Once Was Dean’s return stirs up everything Y/N buried long ago — a love lost, a family built in its place — and the heart-wrenching realization that some things were never meant to be. Inspired by What Once Was by Her's *Contains mentions of pregnancy and lots of angst

Please Please Please Dating Dean Winchester is all fun and fistfights until you’re begging him not to get arrested before breakfast. All you’re asking is please, please, please—don’t screw this up. Inspired by Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter *Contains lots of fluff

Don't Forget Me Dean Winchester died long before his heart stopped beating—the day she left him quiet and still. All that followed was a slow-motion fall into the shape of her absence. When he finally saw her again, it wasn’t goodbye. It was grace. Inspired by Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd by Lana Del Rey *Lots of angst, mention of death, depression, major character death (spoilers for season 15)

Series

Nothing at the moment!

Requests :)

Nothing at the moment!

SAM WINCHESTER

One-Shots

Slut!* It wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t calm—but falling for Sam had a pulse, and it beat louder every time you leaned into the chaos. Inspired by Slut! by Taylor Swift *Brief mentioning of sexual intercourse.

Knowing me, Knowing you Knowing him meant knowing how it would end. And loving him meant doing nothing to stop it.Inspired by Knowing me, Knowing you by Abba *Angst and contains spoilers for character death

Go Go Dancer* She dances for the devil in stilettos and rhinestones, but it’s Sam Winchester she undresses with her eyes. In a haze of cigarette smoke and slow songs, past sins get sticky, and love tastes like lipstick and regret. Inspired by "Go Go Dancer" by Lana Del Rey *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, choking, dom!Sam, rough sex, unproductive sex, possessiveness, toxic longing, soft degradation, emotional tension, club setting, jealousy.

Series

Bunker Fever* Busted ribs, a stubborn Winchester, and nowhere to go—being stuck in the bunker with Sam is starting to mess with your head in more ways than one. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI Part one | Part two Completed

Holy Virgin* You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two On Going

Requests :)

Nothing at the moment!

CASTIEL

One-Shots

I Have a Dream In the midst of chaos, Castiel shows you glimpses of a dream of peace and love, leaving you to wonder if it’s a vision or just a fleeting hope. Inspired by I Have a Dream by Abba

Series

Cupid's Shuffle* Cupid’s arrow was supposed to patch things up with Sam, not point you straight at Castiel—and resisting it might just be harder than falling. *Contains sexual material, slow-burn, brief mentioning of a past relationship with Sam Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight On Going

Requests :)

Crack Me Open Castiel’s still learning the rules of human weirdness — and one unexpected crack might just break his calm for good. *Descriptions of back cracking, fluff, overprotective!Castiel, and early seasons!Castiel

MULTI PAIRINGS

One-Shots

Nothing at the moment!

Series

Truth Hurts* When a witch curses you to spill the truth and nothing but the truth, your biggest secret slips—you're hopelessly, shamelessly into both Winchesters. Good news? They’re just as into sharing as you are. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, threesome between brothers, no wincest Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader x Dean Winchester Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven Completed

Last Woman Standing* An apocalyptic plague wipes out every woman on Earth — except you. Now locked in a bunker with Sam, Dean, and Castiel, they soon realize they’re all falling in love… and lust… with the last woman alive. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, polyamory, apocalyptic themes, emotional/psychological tension, possessiveness, protective dynamics, some angst, heavy sexual content in later parts, consensual but intense scenarios. Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader, Castiel x Reader (eventual polyamorous dynamic) Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six On Going